Oliver's Wood
by sonofgloin
Summary: Sometimes life isn't as easy as we see it. When we take a look it is dark and painful and secretive. Do any of us really know who we are or what we are meant to be?
1. Empty

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

_Tick, tick_

The clock wound by through each new hour.

_Tick, tick_

Everything was silent and empty but for that clock.

_Tick, tick_

What would happen if that clock stopped?

_Tick, tick_

Would I die?

He sat at the window. It wasn't a particularly interesting window. It opened and shut and would only close halfway on cold mornings. It was white with a silver lock that scrapped at the thick layered paint every time the latch was turned. It was square like most in the street. It had four streaky panes intersected by a cross. How ironic.

Today it was open, not that it ever closed. But now it was open all the way. Open so far that there didn't even seem to be a window at all. He would sit and look at the window without taking it in. But if someone asked he could tell you every splinter of its make right down to the one loose screw that had fallen out four days ago now.

He was anything but a window. If you asked people they would say sturdy as the frame and as see-through as the glass. He knew better. Maybe he was a window to others. But no, that couldn't be right. A window is a window whatever the make. Some smaller then others, or coloured, or frosted, but always what they were meant to be. What was he meant to be?

No, no, he was much more like the outside. Complicated. He couldn't describe what he was, not that he was even sure he could bring himself to. He would have to show people. But what would he show them? What could he show them?

Was he the tree? Was he the grass or even Mrs McGovern's old grey umbrella with its six holes that let the rain in and its button that never seemed to catch?

If you asked him he couldn't tell you. He could only show you. Show you what he saw from that window. He was the colours that melted. He brought fire that never lasts. He scattered sand. He was what never changes, no matter what was done to it. No illusion of light or hand could change what was underneath yet always above. He couldn't deny or explain the inescapable, everlasting black. He could only show you.

Did anything ever change? The tree had lost another nine leaves today. It had lost nine the day before, and the day before that too. Did anything ever change?

He knew things changed. The clock changed time. It changed but always came back to the beginning, back to what it was before. Maybe he could hand the clock to people and say here, this is me. No, that would be too simple.

A bird flew past. That was nothing; He was a bird all the time. It was what he wasn't that was difficult.

Could he leave the chair? No, the chair was by the window and the window was his home.

Would his eyes stop watching? No, he could never get away from himself.

Was that the sound?

Could he move at all? No, it wasn't time yet. He wasn't the clock.

The fire was coming. It was harsh. He didn't like the fire even though it helped him. The fire was the tree, the grass, the umbrella, the window, the clock. The fire was constant like him; He brought it and took it away. Would it take him with it?

Was that the sound?

No, that was the other sound. The one he was looking for would come soon. The sound he knew came with touch and smell and taste. He could see and hear but only what he was. The others were given to him. If they weren't given he wouldn't know them.

_Tick, tick_

It was close.

_Tick, tick_

He was by the window.

_Tick, tick_

It always came now.

He felt it first. He could feel the sound. It didn't used to hurt him but now it did. Or did it always hurt and he couldn't remember? Did he not want to remember?

The sound came with skin, but always quietly. The sound was never loud. Only he could hear it. There was the hand. It came next. He never saw the hand. He only saw himself.

It would be here soon.

He heard the lips but that wasn't the sound. He heard them but didn't feel them. There was a fly on the window.

There was the voice. He didn't know it, he never knew it. The voice was quiet but it wasn't the sound. It asked him something.

The voice was gone.

_Tick, tick_

It was like the clock. The sound always came around again.

_Tick, tick_

He could feel the sound now.

_Tick, tick_

"Sure."

That was the sound. He hated that sound. But who made it? It didn't matter. He could leave the chair now. The window was closed. But it would open again. He was the sky. It always turns black.


	2. Mirrored

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

Oliver gave a drowning sigh as he got to his feet, the gold and red material that clung to his legs falling lucidly free. The needling cold of the floor bit through his feet as he took those three steps to his window to shut Oliver Wood out.

Site and sound were gone now. The only thing was touch. And yet such a small consolation touch was, it was truth. He rubbed his arms for warmth but the cold wouldn't fall away. Not even when the skin was red would it stop. He looked at his clock that cricketed on the wall and the bed that lay open and bare, and a shameful weight fell in his chest. Oliver couldn't stay in here any longer. It was too loud.

Kicking through the stains he got to his door but didn't open it. He knew what the handle was and what it would do to him. The handle did more than turn, it chocked and stole and lied. Oliver's hand drew back as he touched it, like an unspoken reprimand. It was only a door and he needed to get out of the room, find somewhere quiet, a quiet that didn't pound in his ears and hurt his chest.

"Is that you Oliver?"

Four seconds. That had to be a record. Not even half a step out and his mother was already calling to him. She was in the kitchen cooking breakfast, probably wondering how many eggs he wanted, but Oliver couldn't answer her; he was looking for something.

"Oliver?"

"I'm going for a shower," he answered not stopping.

The door he looked for lied like all the doors but its lies made things better. The door opened into quiet and stillness and was the only place that could eat away the chill. He latched the bathroom just as the sickness started to gnaw at him. There wasn't medicine for how he felt, only scalding water and choking steam. It was the only thing that could push it back down inside him. Make him clean for another day and hide the dirt so deep no one could see it.

Oliver pulled back the shower curtain and put his hand on the tap. It was red and red meant hot. He turned it as far as it would go hoping each day he could get it to go a little further. And each time it didn't he wondered if it would work again, if it could burn away these feelings.

The steam rose up and carpeted the floor, hiding the smallest part of him.

Oliver undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, each clasp like a shard of death that was hard and small and cruel. His pants fell to the ground and he slid them aside, his socks placed on top.

Was this him? His stood there looking at himself in the mirror as it slowly became fogged. He touched his face, his chest, his stomach, his hands then falling beside him. It was naked and soft but was it him? He looked at every length but couldn't find the answer. It felt like him, or how he used to be. It had skin and hair, but Oliver was lost; lost in an endless steam that hid him, that he himself had caused.

When he had become nothing more then a dark shape he stepped into his solace. The water beaded over him streaming down and into the drain. The spidered design of the pipe-covering grew in his eyes so that every speck of defilement flashed before him. Every smell and taste and feeling that he knew, every memory of sight and sound, every thought of desire and contempt funnelling away.

"I hate you."

There was more then water lining his face. Angry tears met the hot rain and were devoured.

"I hate you," he said again, fighting back the tortured convulsion.

Oliver was bleeding, bleeding into the sewer everything he was.

"I hate you."

He slid down the tiled wall.

"I hate you."

He fell into the river of choking steam.

"I hate you."

His tears cut his face.

"I hate you."


	3. Alone

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

_**THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP**_

It was intoxicating.

_Thump-thump, thump-thump_

The way your heart matched so evenly, so attuned to the vibrations that you don't know where it stops and you begin.

_Thump-thump, thump-thump_

The lights, the movement, the touch

_**THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP**_

He was there.

"How many lumps Oliver?"

"Sorry?"

Oliver broke out of the haze and looked blandly at his mother.

"In your tea dear, how many lumps in your tea?"

"Oh," he replied sinking further into his seat "Three."

No matter how hard Oliver tried he always found himself in that place. Not the kitchen of his house or even the shower or bedroom, he always found himself in that dark place, full of movement and sound; the type that made your chest pound and your throat choke with new and changing emotion.

It was so medical as he watched her. Every morning there was nothing different. He would leave the solace as Oliver Wood and within minutes would be back to what he hated. He couldn't help it though. Each breath he took led him away, led him deep into what he was. It was chemical.

There were three in the room every morning; Oliver, his mother, and silence. It was thick and terrible and this silence was not the same as he found by his window waiting for the sound. Nothing would come from this silence no matter how much he willed it to. It wasn't time.

"More bacon dear?"

_Thump-thump, thump-thump_

"No thankyou."

"Toast?"

_Thump-thump, thump-thump_

"No thankyou."

"So what are you do…"

_**THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP**_

"I want you.

"Not here."

"No one's watching."

"No, not here, not now."

"I just want a taste. I know you do too, I can feel it."

"Stop it."

"OLIVER!"

Oliver jumped as his mother shouted at him.

"It's like I am talking to myself sometimes. You always used to listen."

He did listen before, or tried to. He had to listen. If he didn't there were too many questions, too many feelings to cope with. He wanted to listen but the determined silence stopped him. He would find himself putting down his fork, taking a breath, but then nothing came out. The silence was real and painful but it was there for a reason.

"Are you taking the Knight bus?"

Oliver exhaled closing his mouth. There were three in the room; Oliver, his mother, and the silence. He nodded.

"Well you best be off, I want you home by four."

Again he nodded, sliding his chair across the floor without a sound. He picked up his jacket then stopped on the threshold of the kitchen, his mother looking at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

He wanted to breathe, to yell, to feel, but everything was so dark and stifling. The clock turned, the refrigerator hummed, and he was enveloped again in the drowning ignorance.

"Nothing," said Oliver shaking his head and turning for the door.

He walked down the stairs, trailing his fingers over the banister, wanting to know everything real and loud. Even the hiss of skin on wood was something to him, enough to keep going, enough to know there was something of him left.

The door closed behind him and like ocean spray the air covered him. There were no walls now, or doors, or silence. Now things moved and touched and felt. Now everything was clear. He saw Oliver Wood and all he was; the sky, the clouds, the endless blue that is ever changing. Everything above and below and within torn to shreds in the blazing warmth.

_**THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP**_

"God I want you."

Oliver breathed them in.

"I want you too."


	4. Torn

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

There he was, open and bare, gazing fully at his reflection in the mirror. There was nothing now though, no decision or apprehension, not cutting fear or choking thought. Oliver would take those steps, take those feelings and knowledge and leave them in his room, away from the sound and the clock and the illusion of himself.

He checked the turning dial on his wrist and knew it was time, time to breathe without looks and suspicion, without the looming knowledge threatening to take him over. He turned on the spot and closed his eyes to the cold and lifeless enclosure, feeling his skin constrict and breath stoppered in his lungs.

In that next instant he opened them again washed with growing light, volume pounding in his chest. Rain fell over him, fresh and awakening from the midnight above, the smallest smile crossing his lips in the fluorescent ambience.

_**THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP**_

Faceless souls walked before him, so alike and different and beautiful. They were always so close yet out of reach but now they too were laid bare, their own thoughts abandoned to what lay ahead; warmth and feeling and truth, so abundant but never taken except in instants between knowing and insanity.

Eyes met him in every direction but all he did was listen. Oliver let the freeing heat wash over him so thick and burning and whole. This was all there was but to him it was so much; idle freedoms compounded and changing, inseparable movement melodic and hypnotising, and always these eyes breathing him in, opening what he was so even clawing reason couldn't bring restrain.

Oliver felt a hand slip into his and gently lead him away. The steps of memory were almost waking thought, realisation flooding every sense he had.

The body pushed against him, hard and determined, Oliver's eyes closing as the world fell away into dark excitement. He could taste them on his lips, the sweet perfume charging every nerve he had, fighting control and reason, cutting them free to feed to the black.

"I'm glad you came."

Oliver heard those words only as a whisper, so overcome with sound and colour and movement all else was a blur. Thoughts came and went in those seconds, welling choice seeping through to life.

"I nearly didn't."

He shivered as hot breath caressed his neck, bringing him even deeper into knowing.

"We're creatures of sin. We can't help it."

Oliver burned as their hand met his inner thigh, his heart matching the surrounds.

"Pride… Gluttony… Anger."

The hand rose higher.

"Sloth… Envy… Greed."

Oliver's breath caught in his throat, blazing hunger crashing inside him.

"And greatest of all… Lust."

Warm lips met his own and Oliver was lost. He gave himself over completely as the world covered him, so right and powerful and true. This was all he needed, all he wanted, this was him.


	5. After

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

What was above him but a grey cage,

Beside him the stale warmth of truth,

Beneath him a waste of lost compassion,

Inside him a hole of limitless regret.

Oliver opened his eyes and looked at the familiar room. The roof was cold and bare but it kept the rain out. He couldn't see the falling weather but heard it in his drowning defeat. His bare chest rose slowly and fell again in the darkness, the other's hand resting so close to his. Oliver had lost count of how many times he had come to this point. It was always like this, every time, so black and sterile and cold but he couldn't change it.

He sat up slowly then stood; his strong naked form washed blue in the stormy street light. He looked down and mentally picked through the broken relics, forgotten as they fell, too much like memory and lies. Fragments of thought flashed like the storm, fast-blinding-cutting, followed by the crashing sound, so overpowering he couldn't breathe. Content enough he pulled on what he found, thin and bare, undeserving of any warmth, red satin boxers falling freely at his side.

Oliver needed to see himself now, just once. Not the one that was weak and hidden, but the Oliver he longed for; the sky that came from black to erupting colour; distant hope that slept in the darkness.

The window framed his sight and he walked to it; each step a turn of the clock, each breath a thought of stolen privilege. Ice and fear and demons would hold him beneath the waves, but the window would give him air.

The chair dragged like powder behind him, a gnawing anchor beneath his grasp.

No sun touched his face. No breeze or rock or mist. Only the shards of distant fire crashed across his thought as he sat and waited for himself.

He often wondered what it would be like. What it would be like fifty years from now. Would he fall and stay and grow to stone and ash in shadow; would the sun ever shine on him without the window. Could he stand again on legs that would not walk, in a body that lay hidden, and listen for a voice that would not speak. He yearned to smash that clock; to break it utterly as it turned and mocked him. Its life bare and simple, everything Oliver needed for his.

They moved behind him and Oliver stopped; his fingers tightening over the rusted grain. He longed to fade, to sleep, to run, to scream for freedom away from this place. The body was used like him. Cold and alone, seeking what they could from fear and darkness.

"Good morning."

Oliver didn't answer them. He hardly heard them through the storm. It seemed to grow and change and shape to fight against him, surround him like a cyclone of doubt.

He heard and saw them. Broken thought of touch, and breath, and deep cries stifled by the night. Harsh sins choked together, binding flesh, covering thought. It was primal and right and truth but cut so deeply that the blood would not stop flowing.

"You look cold."

They stood and came towards him, silent steps across the littered floor. He would not let himself hear the sound.

Soft hands touched his shoulders and Oliver shook beneath them. His skin burned with the touch, shame and dread and longing crashing together. He could smell them, breathe in the alcohol, lose himself in the deadly scent. They enveloped him, swallowed him completely and held through time and reason. Lips scorched his neck and back, their hands lost on his rigid body.

"Stop."

They bit him and he saw them; green ivy stricken to grey and black; eyes he hadn't known before that tore through him, left Oliver empty and alone, and mirrored what he had become. Their eyes kissed him but he didn't feel it. There was nothing left.

"Tonight?"

Oliver considered it. He knew what he wanted to say, what he should say, but voice and word were lost in the foaming well.

"I have to go back to school tomorrow."

It wasn't this easy.

"But you'll come? Tonight?"

The sound tore through him; his minute, his hour, his day.

"Sure."

They smiled and went to the bed retrieving their fallen rags. They dressed and turned and were gone with familiar sound and without goodbye. And Oliver was left alone, alone to find what he could from himself after all of this happened again.

Tears would fall and burn; he would seek his solace for not the last time. He would sink and hide and be broken once more because he couldn't see himself through the storm.


	6. Reflections

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of MA due to Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

How easy it is to just sit and watch as the world flashes past. A body, in a train, on a track, flying through light and wind as faceless voids, without feeling or warmth, speak around you.

He could see himself in the window; spattered with rain and cloud and smoke. When he opened his eyes he would see himself, but what name would he give it. Grass and water and sun above, air and life and words within; this wasn't the window in his room.

"Earth to Oliver, come in Oliver."

"What?"

Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson were all looking at him.

"Quidditch World Cup," said Angelina again shaking her head "I thought you of all people would be on about it Wood."

Oliver just stared blankly at them.

"Go back to sleep Oliver," added Katie when the Seventh Year didn't answer "It's like you're in your own little world sometimes."

The girls fell into a discussion about the promiscuous Ravenclaw Seeker and Oliver turned back to look out the window.

The day passed like lead turned gold in the reading, then fell again to a haze of grey and silver. Oliver spent most of it in silent thought, fighting back images so painful and glad they cut like knives. Every now and then he caught a name or a face and stole a word beneath the lanterns, but still he was apart and distant. How easy it is just to sit and watch as the world flashes past.

The sun finally fell through the wasted storm and talk turned to what each Gryffindor had done over holidays.

"C'mon Oliver, spill it," said Katie "What little thing was chasing you round all summer?"

"Nothing," he said, a little too definitely.

* * *

"We're creatures of sin, we can't help it."

* * *

"No one," he added with an innocent smile.

The three girls exchanged sceptical looks.

"We'll see," said Angelina in a very doubtful tone.

Oliver was spared however as the Express began to slow. The three Chasers pushed past Oliver to see out the window.

"I can't see Hogwarts," said Katie quietly.

"Then why have we stopped?" asked Oliver.

The lights in the cabin went out, as did those in the surrounding carriages. There was stifled screaming, and hissing, then silence. Everything had gone cold.

Usually Oliver would be grateful for the silence but this was different. It wasn't silence; it was as though sound had never existed. There were only dark shapes that were Alicia, Katie and Angelina, and the steely blue of distant lightening.

"I don't like this," whispered Alicia "Stop it… stop it… STOP IT!"

A veil of blindness met the quiet and the world fell to stone and guilt. A deep breath drank the room as grey and black fed from the happiness.

Oliver was choking, clawing for air as his body burned.

It was dark and loud, too loud, but somehow it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. He was here for a reason, only one, and it was close.

The warmness held him, moved over him slowly and drew away, flesh of lips and hands taking him deeper. Bodies moved around him, bent and drawn in his reflection, slowed and quickened as will and purpose drove them. But they were air to water, fire to rock, no concern but for their own desire.

Voices echoed of light and trees but he held so tightly, held off so long to release himself. He breathed and shook and gave himself completely to the other, lost and convulsing in the dark world.

"Oliver!"

It was killing him.

"Oliver, Oliver, are you okay?"

Katie, Angelina and Alicia swam back into view. The Express was moving again and the silence seemed lighter.

"Oliver, you don't look so well."

Oliver stumbled to his feet.

"I, I can't do this anymore."

He fell towards the door and moved into the corridor.

"Oliver," called Alicia "Oliver, you need to sit down."

He swayed with the train ignoring the faces of worry staring at him. Oliver crashed into Percy Weasley.

"Dementors," he said "Did you see them?"

Oliver looked at the Seventh Year and grabbed hold of him.

"Move."

He pushed Percy aside.

"Are you okay Wood?"

Oliver closed the door to the bathroom and fell to the floor. He took one deep breath then vomited into the porcelain. He was shaking and alone. He couldn't do this much longer.


	7. Reprieve

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG due to Light Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

"Bed."

Oliver registered a dull scraping as chairs stared to move. He was lost in himself, in memory, in decision and regret.

"Dumbledore said bed Oliver."

Oliver looked up into Angelina Johnson's clear grey eyes then at her hand resting gently on his arm.

"Right, bed," he nodded.

He was at Hogwarts again, but what did it mean? A year of bricks and essence and glass and stone to cover the sound and let Oliver breathe for a while?

"Hi Oliver."

"Hey."

"Hi Oliver, have a nice summer?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Going to get the cup this year Wood?"

"Count on it."

A hand clapped Oliver on the back.

"Not if Huffelpuff have anything to say about it."

Oliver smiled.

"Wishful thinking Diggory, come hurricanes or Dementors we'll win every match."

There was something familiar about all of this, but it seemed somehow distorted, like a broken memory or a double-take on some happy, distant thought. Oliver could even now feel it ebbing away, what he had done drowning in its own vacant darkness.

There was no house, no window or door, no shadow or sin or storm; there was Oliver, at least for a while, awake and how he wanted to be.

People broke off all around him, not shapes and faceless, but full and whole and alive, making their way to their common rooms and bed. Oliver longed for the soft mattress, to sink into it and finally have sleep.

"Fortuna Major."

Gryffindor common room washed over him, fire and carpet of gold and red. It was comforting in its way, reassuring. Taste and touch and smell and sound and sight; it was peaceful.

Oliver smiled for the second time that night, a smile that was completely a part of how he was feeling, not a motion that would be pushed aside by something much deeper.

"Coming to b-bed Oliver?" asked Percy Weasley yawning widely and rubbing his eyes.

"In a minute,' said Oliver.

He moved over to the fire and warmed his hands, let the heat fill him, smelling the ash as it drifted out the flue. He closed his eyes and there was nothing. No vision, no though, only the hearth in front of him and the laughing chatter around.

"Welcome back," he whispered.

The cold Oak door to the seventh year dorm opened soundlessly. Percy Weasley was already in bed flicking through A Standard Book of Spells Grade 7 and Marcus Cowan was pulling a Tornado's Quidditch T-shirt down over his head; the other seventh years were still in the common room.

"Hey Oliver, have a good summer?"

"Hey Marcus, not too bad, you?"

Marcus frowned slightly.

"Dad took me and Elsie down to Bath to visit our grandparents."

He shrugged.

"It was pretty boring but we got good presents."

Marcus got into bed and Oliver went to his trunk to retrieve his own pyjamas. Rain beat against the windows and as Oliver slowly undressed a brilliant streak of lightening tore across the sky.

Through the blue night he saw the guard standing watch at the gates, standing resolutely by command and hunger, unmoved by rain or wind.

His stomach fell and he turned away sending a glass to the floor where it shattered.

"Are you okay Oliver?" asked Percy.

"Fine," said Oliver.

For that moment, that moment of unguarded happiness, everything crashed back. He was on the Express again, alone and cold, vomiting, being torn apart from the inside.

"No," he breathed quietly "No."

Oliver repaired the glass and got into bed, not looking out the window again. He closed the hangings as the other seventh year boys came up to the dorm.

He lay there silently, looking above him, his eyes fixed on a point in the void. They had nearly escaped him, nearly broken free of the chains. He wouldn't let them, he had to be strong.

"Goodnight," called Percy, but Oliver didn't answer him.

The storm raged against the windows, the Gryffindors talked, but that was all outside. That was distant and violent; all that mattered now was quiet.

Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the sleep he had longed for finally washed over him.


	8. Met

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of MA due to Adult Themes and Strong Sex Scenes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

They shook as he entered, arched and crying through sound and flesh; the silence cut, buried and forgotten as he moved above them. Each taste took him deeper, the quiet movements blinding him as the feeling grew.

They were hidden and alone, skin biting shadow, power and obsession building in the darkness. He felt the cold warmth of them, engulfing him, faceless and meaningless but burning with tortured need.

He moved again, his chest hollow against the beating of his heart. It filled him and hurt and drove him forward, all else lost in the future moments.

It opened within him, paralysing, breaking him completely. It flooded him, drawing nearer, that suffocating veil of pure knowing. It ripped through him, choked him, emptied him of everything he knew…

* * *

Oliver gasped and opened his eyes, breathing heavily. The storm still crashed outside the tower, violent and purposeful. He wondered if it had been the thing that woke him, or perhaps the visionless dream. He suddenly felt sick.

He sat up and lay back against his pillows, afraid to close his eyes. Oliver would not fall into that world again.

"Percy."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. He thought he heard a voice. He listened but heard nothing more, only the wind against the glass and mortar of the room.

"Oh god."

Oliver shifted to the edge of his bed and drew back the curtains. The bed to his left was still and peaceful. He moved to the other side. This too seemed quiet, sleeping and at rest.

CRACK-BOOM

A thunderous streak tore the air and silhouetted the neighbouring bed. Oliver's eyes opened to the black shapes moving within. They were dark and bonded, intertwined of flesh and hair and movement.

Strong hands caressed the other, bringing her to his lips, to his hold.

"Penelope."

Whispered cries escaped the hangings, tied to warmth and motion and heat. She sat atop him, tasting him, taking him into her with every thought.

Oliver sat back and the deep red fabric fell back into place. This had happened before, Raven and Lion, joined and forgotten.

Sound and site corrupted him, held him and called to him.

He closed his eyes.

His heart beat faster, his skin warming as his hand fell at his side. The fire grew within, burning and consuming, hypnotic in its desire. Oliver found himself and took a stuttering breath.

He slowly moved, firm and constant, sweeping waves washing on the sand. His mind was open, thoughts growing, feeding him, tightening his hold.

Oliver fell into himself, knowing only his touch and need. He quickened, thought and breath broken.

His eyes flew open and shut again looking at himself in the blue darkness.

He broke upon the shadowed figure, air and fire joining in his wake. It pounded within him, ice and lightening forming and failing, drawing him up into mindless feeling.

Frenzied breath escaped his lips, fighting the intake returning to his lungs. It was close, so close he could feel it, feel nothing but his warm body shaking beneath his hand.

He stopped breathing… He stopped knowing…

Everything stoped under the power of that final moment, then crashed back like dawning life of sun to earth.

He lay there, motionless, breathing deeply in the silence. The storm was over, the moon casting grey shadows across the dorm. Oliver lay there without thought, without knowing, sleep washing over him again.


	9. Hidden

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of MA due to Adult Themes and Strong Sex Scenes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

It all passed him, all of it; his face vacant, unloving, frozen and distant as she arched above him.

He looked through her and through the window, gazing stilly at the purple afternoon. There was her shoulder, her hair, but that was all he saw, all he wanted to see. The sky was growing darker like him, swept away and hidden, a lie in breath and word.

"Oliver.'

He looked at her finally, touched her warm, dark skin as it slid under his soft, white touch, the curves of her body pressing against him, her heat and scent covering him wholly.

She pressed her lips to his, screaming for release, aching with lust and frailty and being.

The sky was growing darker still.

Her hands and eyes caressed him, tore at the muscle beneath his cold skin, opening her to the heavens, blinding and pure. She gasped, the walls stifling her cries as she broke over him, moon and shadow destroying her mind.

Oliver looked into her, so empty he could no longer share that moment.

She kissed him again and stood, pulling the dark robes around her that had been thrown to the floor.

"I'll see you back in the common room," said Angelina quietly, handing him his discarded clothes.

Oliver said nothing as she left. When she looked at him he knew what she longed to say, to cry to the world. But could he ever long for it too?

He pushed a hand to the cool glass and watched her walk away. The mist fell from the grain, small rivers bleeding over his palm. Each drop was bound to him yet would burn away as his touch found something more.

He left the room and headed back to the castle, watching as it passed him, wall and mirror, barriers that reflected him upon himself.

Dark shapes flecked with green and silver walked towards him, their cavalier stance doubled in their words. They were poison and sorrow led by the snake. It nodded at Oliver and he inturn was filled with silent fury. He hated that person more then he hated himself as he sat alone, by the window, wondering what there was away from this place.

Dinner was over. Thoughts of the students' wandered to sleep and rest, but Oliver's mind was elsewhere as the hoards moved around him. He needed something still, his heart and mind divided by choice and reason.

Tree and iron had called to him, a silent voice of longing through the din. He had tasted it before, died in its wake, felt it burn around him, within him, charge him with life and pain.

He followed it, their steps echoing off the chiselled stone, alone and black against the guttering torches.

Oliver stopped, led into a midnight recess, their heart beating savagely against his own.

"You know what this still is?" they asked him.

Oliver knew what it was, what they wanted it to be; darkness and fire, closed and forgotten.

"You remember?" they asked again.

"Nothing," said Oliver "It's nothing."

"Exactly," they breathed.

They kissed him, fingers entwined in his, bodies firm against the cold rock. They drew him into them, threw him down that open tunnel.

"C'mon," they whispered.

Steps crashed purposefully across the hall and through the opening, robes torn from their body.

Oliver followed, the deep hunger clawing its way out as he went, the hatred and grief growing to nothing in the cold room. He saw them waiting, pale and bare, shaking with the want. He would let himself have them.

"Lock the door."

Oliver turned, his wand drawn to the handle.

Before the oak closed too he saw the sky outside and clenched his jaw in defiance. It was coal and steel… alone… aware… and silent.


	10. Aware

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Implied Nudity and Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

There was muffled silence around him, the warm river cradling his skin, closed darkness before his eyes. Oliver floated on that ocean, cool ambience framing his body, cast from the high windows of the prefects' bathroom.

He could almost fool himself now in the light, lie and hide from what he had done. In the foaming wash everything was simple. He would stay here and drift, dreaming of nothing, the blue lake taking from him everything he offered. Those past nights would die like black smoke, remembered for their fury and forgotten for their consequence.

A low noise opened Oliver's eyes, water streaming from him, bringing back sound and site and voice.

"I didn't think anyone would be up here this early."

Oliver looked at them without expression.

"I like the quiet," he said.

"Great minds," smiled Cedric throwing down his towel and stepping slowly into the water.

Oliver watched the sixth year disappear beneath the surface then rise again pushing the dark hair from his eyes.

"I hope you don't mind," said Cedric.

"No," said Oliver shaking his head "I've been here for a while; I was just about to go."

Oliver swam to the side of the pool and pushed himself out, the crystal liquid shining the floor. He began to dry himself before wrapping the white linen tightly around his waist.

"So when are you starting Quidditch training?" asked Cedric moving stilly through the water.

Oliver stopped, turned, and smiled.

"See you later Diggory."

Oliver caught the slightest frown on Cedric's face.

"Yeah, see you."

The brightness of the morning grew as Oliver moved through the castle. Air and sun met with gold, casting no darkness across the emerald lawns. Then Oliver saw them again.

"Wood."

Oliver ignored them pulling on his shirt and moving up the staircase.

The common room opened on the Chasers. They sat quietly, gazing into the amber flames of the hearth.

Something stopped him and Oliver looked at them and wondered. He wondered as the dark floor fell through doubt and clouds if he could ever tell them. Could he bring himself to that point and not turn away. All he could do was open his mouth and whisper it, closed expression falling from him like shadow under moon, hot breath escaping wordless lips. The silence was whole and he wanted it broken. But could Oliver ever tell them.

He looked at Angelina and she smiled, her grey eyes taking him in. What he had done would tear her. For her he knew, for him he guessed, this was the better choice. She was safe and whole.

"Do you want us to wait for you?" Angelina asked.

"No," said Oliver heading toward the staircase "I'll be down later."

The dorm was empty except for Marcus.

"Where is everybody?" asked Oliver.

Marcus sighed.

"Percy said something about the library like it's not the third day of term and Jake and Andrew are off chasing skirt somewhere."

"But it's six thirty in the morning," Oliver laughed.

"Yeah," agreed Marcus "But I guess the early worm catches the bird too."

Oliver went to his bed, sun blazing through the mullioned glass, grey and white lining the distant forest of trees. He took off his shirt dropping it to the floor. Through the haze of new morning Oliver caught again without intent the dark clouds of watchfulness standing as guard and prophet. He turned away without breath or station, broken against the walls of his mind. Marcus was looking at him.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said Marcus.

Oliver closed his eyes.

"The Dementors, when they're around, what do you see?"

The seventh year's expression changed and he walked across the room. They were feet from each other.

"What do I see?"

Oliver nodded.

"This," said Marcus quietly.

He leant forwards and pressed his lips to Oliver's.

"Always this."


	11. Forsaken

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG due to Content.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

There was wind in his hair, a cold and distant breeze blowing across his face. He looked into the sunset, through grey and pink, and felt empty. There was nothing in his mind or heart, the cold day falling to frozen night. He was alone and on the edge of dusk pleading that someone would just take him away.

It's not as easy as you tell yourself it is going to be. You convince yourself that the words will just come out, or maybe you don't. We're human and we like things to be easy. Wouldn't it be better to lie to yourself and die alone then hurt the people you care about in the process. You open your mouth and cry and hurt and just want it all to stop, but the only person you are hurting is yourself.

Tears fell down his face, choked exhaustion bleeding from his inside. All he had to do was take one more step and finish it, leave the world to what it wanted and find the shadow that was waiting.

He moved to the edge of the rampart, feeling as he did all the voices he had ever known die in the wind. He would last look at the sun, shut his eyes and remember forever the only warmth he had ever felt. He was beyond hate now. Hate was petty and short lived and took more energy then he had. He was nothing anymore, to himself or anybody else.

He saw the sun and closed his eyes.

"Oliver?"

He turned and wiped the tears away.

"Professor Lupin," he said hoarsely.

The teacher's eyes faltered on his face.

"Oliver, are you alright?"

Oliver wanted to turn and run, to hide away from him.

"I'm fine," said Oliver running the sleeve of his jumper over his cheek "What are you doing here?"

Lupin walked forward with the concerned look still on his face.

"I don't know," he said softly "Being up here sort of clears my head."

They stood side by side looking out over the lake.

"Beautiful isn't it."

Oliver couldn't answer. There was no air or life left in him.

"Oliver it's-,"

"Just say its okay."

"What?" asked Lupin.

"Just say its okay, please," whispered Oliver again.

"Oliver, what's wrong?"

Lupin put a hand on his shoulder.

"Just say its okay."

Oliver broke.

"Just say its okay."

He slid down the stone, shaking under his emotion, every jagged truth tearing through him. He wanted to vomit and die and be left there alone and destroyed.

Lupin sat down beside him and put a hand to Oliver's face. Oliver looked at him and saw worry etched in every line, concern he didn't deserve, and unknown truth that would take it away. Oliver looked at the professor and was dead.

"Please, just say its okay."


	12. Commandments

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of MA due to Strong Sex Scenes and Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN:** I apologise because this update has been so long coming. The next Harry Potter and the Score of Vaudeville chapter will hopefully be up soon too. Thankyou to all the readers who have stuck with this FanFiction, and I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait.

P.S. I can't say when the next one will come but I will try to make it quick.

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

The darkness came again like forgotten rain, a black shadow lying slowly over thought and mind. Hazel snow crept down the frosted window, the night held back by no more then the thin, clear glass.

He had stood on that tower, drained of all but ignorance, hoping that the world would let him fade, return him to dust and iron and free him from the waiting storm.

He looked out that window and into himself once more, through cloud and wind, hiding what was above and under by the coal grey of winter.

He had fallen from the turret, but only back to what he was, a tattered patch of untruth that would fray before the end.

"Oliver?"

Oliver turned in his chair and saw Marcus in the fiery gleam. There was snow in his hair and he put his jacket and shoes by the hearth to dry them.

"What are you doing?"

Oliver sighed.

"Just watching the snow. What have you been up to?"

Marcus walked over and stood next to him, shaking the last of the snow from his head.

"Elsie wanted a snowball fight and dad said seeing he was working over Christmas I had to be extra nice to her."

Oliver smiled to himself.

"Little sisters hey."

"Be thankful you're an only child," grimaced Marcus "They can be more trouble then they're worth sometimes."

He lifted his jumper to show the large, purple, snowball-shaped bruise on the lower right of his stomach.

"Ouch," winced Oliver touching it lightly with the tips of his fingers.

Marcus recoiled a little but his expression changed as he looked down at Oliver.

Oliver felt the tender skin beneath his own and saw the gentle grey of the Gryffindor's eyes. He saw the shape above him and broke again. His strength made to falter, all mind and decision lost in the hot air of the dorm room.

He stood as Marcus pulled the woollen sheath from his body, the soft brown skin washed red in the firelight. Oliver took the step between them and felt the strong body push against him, his own shirt falling to the floor.

"You're sure?" asked Oliver gazing solemnly into the reflective grey.

Marcus didn't answer, but met Oliver's lips with his own.

The slow world unfolded before him, not hidden by shadow but given life by heat and breath, the downed mattress taking their weight.

Oliver breathed him in, hair and sweat, the taste of his neck and chest, the touch of his hands and eyes. He felt the weight above him and it was no longer empty, it burned over him whole and right.

He sighed as the seventh year pressed against him, arching their bodies and returning them to the embers.

The cool winter moon broke the clouds, casting their naked forms silver and red. It looked upon the two entwined, now forgotten by the darkness that would not stop chasing them.

Flesh and muscle were woven together, heat and blood straining against tissue.

Oliver closed his eyes, Marcus' hands and lips lost on his form, his piercing touch stealing breath and thought. His body burned as Marcus moved over him, the warmth and softness of his mouth leaving him shattered and aching, the other's damp brown hair entwined in his fingers.

Oliver drew Marcus up and kissed him, their burning need tearing through them, a fevered bolero of mortal desire.

Marcus looked at Oliver, his eyes sky above ocean, and their mouths met again, lips drawing slowly away as two joined to one.

Oliver felt him move inside him, gentle and deep, his own hands clawing the slick skin of the body above. His mind was lost and he new only Marcus, a dead passion that broke within every cell.

Marcus drew away and returned, the blazing fire building within room and body.

Oliver shook beneath him, his heart raging against its cage, feeling the towering blindness welling within.

His body left the soaked linen, caught in Marcus' arms, their wet torsos sliding against the other.

And then the white noise was broken, torn by Oliver's stuttered gasps, caught in time to his slowing movement, looking down into Marcus' flushed and gazing face.

There was silence.

"I-,"

But Marcus didn't finish. Oliver's lips met his again as the dark clouds covered the cold moon once more.


	13. Pitty

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG due to some Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN** It's been 10000 years since my last FanFiction update of any kind. Work and money do that to you. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

The bright red played across his face, the hot rainbow of sunlight reflecting through melting glass. He stared into it, unmoving, without thought, the smell of the dying hearth strong in his senses.

Marcus moved beside him, the boy's grey hand rising and falling in time with Oliver's chest. Oliver didn't look at him though, only out of that window, shut to the cold and the sky.

A clock chimed somewhere in the common room; its metal workings sounding seven times.

Oliver slid out from under Marcus' arm and stood there waiting in the cold. He looked down at him, the white linen falling at the small of his back, and the once harsh sun drowning him in a pool of clear light.

Oliver turned away.

He stepped into the open shower and let the steaming water bead over him. He looked into the falling stream, his hands resting on the dark scarlet wall. There were no tears or shame, just an empty thought, a bland and consuming feeling with no cause or answer.

He stood there, holding the copper towel as the last drops fell from the steel faucet, closing in on a place that had no end.

Oliver walked back into the dorm stopping in the doorway.

Marcus was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking through the sunlit window as though there were no frame; his face cast half in light, half in shadow, nature reflecting what it saw in their minds.

"Morning," said Oliver.

Marcus looked at him slowly, the words half formed before he even spoke.

"What is this?'

Oliver knew what he meant. It wasn't accusing or defeated, just a question, asked in a tone that everyone hears. He didn't know what to say though, putting down his towel and pulling on a pair of jeans.

Marcus paused, answering his own question when no voice came.

"Should it be something we want?"

"I'm seventeen," said Oliver "I don't know what I want."

He found a shirt and pulled it over his head, the grudging sentence fighting its way forward.

"Besides, what I want and what I can have are two different things."

"It doesn't have to be that way," said Marcus, Oliver hearing the disbelief in his words.

"Yes it does," said Oliver "We're not some metaphor played out in a fairytale. Life isn't meant to be easy. Not for us… Not for anyone."

Marcus left the bed and walked over to him. Oliver saw the loneliness in his eyes, the same eyes that stared back at him in the mirror.

"What do _you_ want Oliver Wood?"

It was a simple question and one too long to answer. Oliver looked out into the fiery sun then back at Marcus.

"Not this."

It was truth. The first he had spoken in a long time. The exhale after holding his breath for so long.

Marcus just looked at him, looked at him then smiled.

"I know what you mean. There's a difference between being content and being happy."

Something agreed in Oliver, a shallow tide that longed to grow and wash away doubt. It was a grain of sand in an ocean of thought, and as small as it was, it was part of the being.

Oliver nodded.

Marcus pulled on some pants and took a towel from the dresser.

"See you at breakfast Oliver Wood," said Marcus, casting one last look out of the sun filled window before leaving the room.

Oliver stood there, the golden rays warming his skin, the cool stone under foot. He walked to the window, slowly undoing the latch and pushing the frame open.

The fresh breeze washed over him, the damp hair blown from his eyes, Oliver looked into the morning and breathed in the dawning sky.


	14. Breath

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG due to some Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN** If my last update was 1000 years or more this one has been many millennia in the making. Hopefully sitting here with Green Day playing in my ears it will inspire me to write something half decent. I sincerely hope you enjoy.

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

The stone of the corridor was warm, the heat of the fires lining its course grain.

The smell of pancakes and fresh baked bread eddied from the Great Hall as coloured rivers flowed to their tables, taking in the morning feast.

Oliver pushed a hand against the great oak door, stepping into the clear day. The air filled him, sweet from the dew, his thoughts clouded with anticipation.

He took the broom from his left hand and mounted it, kicking off into the breeze, freed, as a leaf falling from the arm of some gnarled tree.

The clouds swam around him, the emerald grass and crystal-blue lake bleeding to a haze of aqua movement, his eyes closing as the broom carried him into the hills.

He had done this many times before, but this time was different. He had always flown away to escape, to hide, to punish himself for feeling the way he did. But this time it was different. The feeling had changed. Now it was as bright as the morning.

The landscape swept under him, miles between him and Hogwarts, but still within site of its highest turrets.

Oliver landed on a small outcropping of stone, the familiar grass cushioning his decent as he sat amongst the blades.

His face turned upwards, its soft hue filled with the rays of the winter sun, the peace was so refreshing.

Only the dull roar of the trees could be heard; the soft hiss of distant waterfalls; the warm glow of waking rock.

Oliver blinked. He couldn't have been asleep for long; the sun was still low in the sky. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. The breeze had stopped, leaving the snow to shine under the growing morning.

He saw a shape move in front of him, higher in the sky, swooping like a bird but faster and more smoothly. It darted back and forth, searching for something.

Oliver took the wand from his belt.

"_Lumos_."

His wand ignited, the glowing light attracting the fluid object.

Before the shape met him Oliver held out a hand and caught a small metal sphere from the air. Its wings struggled against him but he had a firm hold.

"Diggory."

Cedric Diggory landed in front of him, flushed, out of breath, but smiling.

"Your talents are wasted, Wood. You should have been a Seeker."

Oliver smiled to himself. He tossed the game ball into the air and Cedric caught it easily.

"I think I'll leave it to you Diggory."

Cedric swallowed hard and looked around.

"What are you doing up here?"

"I could ask you the same question," replied Oliver, the smile widening "Its Hufflepuff verses Gryffindor this weekend isn't it?"

Cedric reddened a little

"Well, yes, but-,"

"Then I better tell Potter to be on his game," said Oliver "You were awesome up there."

Cedric laughed.

"Oliver Wood complimenting a Hufflepuff, you're not sick are you?"

"No," said Oliver, remembering for only a moment "No."

Cedric tapped the Snitch with his wand and placed it in his pocket before sitting on the ground and looking expectantly at Oliver.

"So I told you why I was here, Wood," he raised an eyebrow "Why are you?"

Oliver sat down beside him, looking out over the drop, taking in the green and grey, the soft edges of nature.

"I found this spot in my second year, when Charlie Weasley was still at school," said Oliver "He suggested we try it. We used to fly laps out here to improve team stamina."

Cedric turned to him looking intrigued.

"Dumbledore stoped it when Snape caught us doing it at night, training preparation for long matches."

"Then why now?" asked Cedric

Oliver looked around him again, frowning in the direction of Hogwarts.

"It helps me clear my head up here."

He turned and looked solemnly at Cedric.

"You know?"

Cedric looked back at him.

"Yeah, I can see that."

There was silence between them, the gentle hum of open forest still filling their senses. Oliver looked at Cedric and knew he could talk to him, realised that which he had never seen before. It was comforting in its way, but Oliver couldn't tell why.

Then it happened.

Cedric leant over, slowly pressing his lips to Oliver's. Gently opening his mouth and meeting Oliver again.

Oliver's world stopped. His heart raced and his stomach fell away. It was as if he were lifted on great waves, his breath caught as Cedric pulled away.

"I, I, I don't know why I did that," stuttered Cedric as he jumped to his feet.

He placed a palm over his broomstick and it streaked to his hand.

"Cedric, Cedric!" Called Oliver, but the Hufflepuff was gone.

Diggory had mounted his broom and rocketed into the distance.


	15. Soul

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of MA due to Intended Nudity, Sexual **

**References and Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN** Guess the Green Day worked. Pink might just do better. Next one up cause I feel in a fic-ing mood!!

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

The storm raged around him, blurs of scarlet and topaz streaking through the near night. The yellow forms flew at him, dodging, ducking, trying to pierce his defences.

Time after time he blocked the attempts to steal his goal, the slick red ball cutting his hands as he passed it back to his indistinct team mates.

He watched though strands of drenched hair and icy shards of rain as Katie Bell disappeared into the torrential curtain.

WHAM

"Aaahhh!"

A bludger flew out of the storm and crashed into his shoulder, the Hufflepuff Beater making way for the Chaser. Oliver watched, helpless, as the game ball streaked through the goal post.

"Thirty to Twenty, Hufflepuff over Gryffindor," cried Lee Jordan's muffled voice through the storm.

Oliver would not be behind for long. He tried desperately to spot his team, coming further out from the goals.

"Thirty all!" screamed Lee, Alicia Spinnet dodging all three Hufflepuff Chasers to score through the middle post.

Oliver took his eyes off the far end of the pitch to find his Seeker. He found him, as well as Diggory, flying towards him, no more then a dark smudge under the threatening clouds.

They had spotted the Snitch.

"Go Harry!!" bellowed Oliver as Harry rocketed past.

Cedric followed.

Oliver tried to catch his eye, even for an instant, but Cedric was determined to reach his quarry. Even when they had shaken hands at the beginning of the match Cedric did not look at him.

WHACK

Oliver doubled up in pain as another bludger hit him in the stomach. He recovered quickly though, saving the Quaffle from going through the golden hoop. He passed the ball back to Katie, who passed it to Angelina, who soared to the other end of the pitch to score.

CRACK-BOOM

Lightening rent the air, the wind becoming colder and the rain and mist thicker. Each time, Oliver had only seconds to save the Quaffle from going through the Gryffindor goals.

"Gryffindor over Hufflepuff, One hundred and ten to sixty," Lee's voice drifted up from somewhere in the stands.

_We're fifty points up_ thought Oliver _Come on Harry_.

* * *

"You know what this still is?"

"Nothing, it's nothing."

* * *

Oliver shook his head, what was that?

* * *

"No, not here, not now."

"I just want a taste. I know you do too, I can feel it."

* * *

"No," said Oliver "It can't be…"

He looked down into the wash of dark mud. He could make out the terrible black shapes, feel their breath in his chest, their rattling screams and his head.

"No," groaned Oliver.

He was lost.

* * *

"We're creatures of sin. We can't help it."

"God I want you."

"This. Always this."

"I, I, I don't know why I did that."

"Please, just say its okay."

* * *

Oliver lurched on his broom, blinking, as something, more brilliant even than the lightening, cut through the storm.

His eyes came back into focus just as Harry hit the ground. He heard the cries of triumph mingled with the cries of horror.

Diggory had caught the Snitch.

They had lost. Gryffindor had lost.

* * *

Oliver's face was turned up into the hot stream, willing the warm water to take the defeat away. He was reliving it all in his head. If only the Dementors could have kept away for a few more minutes. Kept away all that they brought.

"Oliver?"

Oliver turned slowly, resting his back against the while tiles, letting the beads still flow over his aching body.

"No Diggory, not again."

He shut his eyes. Cedric had asked him several times for a rematch after the game had ended.

"No," said Cedric "It's-,"

"What?" cut in Oliver, the loss was still so fresh.

Oliver opened his eyes. Cedric stood there in his white linen towel, his hair still wet from the shower, single beads of glass-like water running the length of his pale and built torso.

"What?" asked Oliver again.

"The other day," said Cedric, looking apologetic "I, I didn't-,"

Oliver stepped out of the shower and walked towards the Hufflepuff. He looked into the reflective grey of the other's eyes and loosened the knot in the towel. Oliver led Cedric back through the steam, the hot waves charging over their bodies.

They stood under the burning ocean, so close, but not touching, just staring at the other, lost in the other.

Oliver stepped forward and kissed him, as gently as he had been kissed three days before. No one had ever kissed him so softly. Oliver pushed against him, feeling Cedric hit the tiles and yearn for the kiss.

His fingers moved over the Hufflepuff, his chest and arms, Cedric's mouth caressing Oliver's neck.

Their lips met again. Oliver could taste Cedric, feel his heart race, his muscles clench, the burning desire slide against him.

"What am I doing."

Oliver stopped

"What?" asked Cedric, breathing deeply in the hot air.

Oliver looked at him, confused, ashamed.

"I can't do this to you."

Cedric actually grinned

"Really not minding."

Oliver shook his head.

"I mind. I care."

He turned away and picked up his towel, leaving Cedric under the veil of forgotten steam.


	16. Stand

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Sexual **

**References and Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN** I think I am writing this fearing the prospects of returning to work! Whenever you have important stuff to do, it is always much better to fic :)

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

Oliver sighed, the smile not quite fallen from his face.

Gryffindor had beaten Ravenclaw, his Quidditch reputation reinstated.

"Nice game," said Marcus, unwrapping the gold and scarlet scarf from his shoulders and throwing it on top of his dresser.

"Oh yes," agreed Percy "Penelope wasn't very happy with the loss but the better team won."

Oliver grinned.

"I'm sure she'll think of some way to pay you back Perce."

Percy reddened a little but said nothing more.

Oliver lay back on his pillows, the hangings drawn around his bed. He could only smile as he closed his eyes and remembered the last match. They would now be playing Slytherin in the Quidditch Final. The cup could still be his.

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Oliver woke suddenly, his dreams broken by the terrible yell.

He jumped out of bed, fear and confusion filling him. The other boys did the same, hair tussled and eyes red.

"Percy?" groaned Jake.

Percy looked worried, pulling on his dressing gown and heading for the door. Oliver shared a quick glance with Marcus but followed the Head Boy out of the dorm.

The whole tower was awake, looking scared. Oliver could see Professor McGonagall at the front of the group, near the portrait hole, looking furious.

He did not have to wonder for long, the name Sirius Black filtered through the group, like a cold, dead shiver.

"You will all go down to the Great Hall immediately!" directed McGonagall "Percy, Alicia, Lee, go and alert the other heads of house."

The Gryffindor's moved off together, a tight group of frightened whispers and furtive looks into the shadows.

"Heavy stuff, hey?" asked Marcus turning to Oliver.

"Yeah, just a little." He agreed.

As they came into the entrance hall the other houses joined them, all looking as scared and vulnerable.

"This way," called Professor Flitwick from the top of the marble staircase.

Oliver was then separated from the main group, a strong hand leading him into a side chamber.

A body pushed against him, hard, forcefully, clawing at his bare chest, their hands groping the front of his satin boxers.

Oliver pushed him away.

"What are you doing Flint?" he demanded.

Marcus did not answer, pinning Oliver to the wall again.

"Get off me!" he yelled.

"What's your problem, Wood?" hissed Marcus "A month ago you couldn't have enough of this."

Oliver shook his head, the Slytherin looking outraged.

"Are you kidding?" said Oliver "Everyone is looking the other way so you decide you want some?"

What had changed in him? What small light had broken through the cloud? The Gryffindor stood there, angry at the thought that Marcus assumed he could have him whenever he wanted, could force himself on him in the darkness.

"This isn't going to happen any more," said Oliver.

Marcus actually laughed.

"What?" he said, his eyes becoming cold and dark.

Marcus charged at Oliver, slamming him into the stone of the corridor. Oliver felt the brick cut into him, slicing at his skin.

"It will happen when I say it happens, Wood."

His face was inches from the Gryffindor. Oliver struggled but could not throw him off.

"You think this will change just because you say so?"

"You're disgusting," spat Oliver.

Marcus' face turned livid. He struck out at Oliver.

He hit the floor, blood streaming from his lower lip.

The Slytherin stood over him, a black silhouette in the night.

"I know you Wood," he said "You say you don't want it but I know you do. You'll give it up to me every time."

Oliver cried out as Marcus kicked him in the stomach.

"See you around, Wood."

The Slytherin left him there on the cold stone. Broken and alone.


	17. Moment

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG due to Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN:** A sweet one 

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

Oliver looked at himself in the stained mirror, alone and grey, cast in the pale light of the melting tapers. 

Was it true? Would he fall again? Could these days have been a slow and ending dream; a cold nothing, the empty box void of hope.

"_Episkey_."

Oliver felt his lip burn, the cut fading to leave the red stains, dried and clotted, the memory he may deserve to keep.

"Hello?"

Oliver turned to see Professor Lupin looking in the door.

"Oliver," he said "I thought I heard someone, you're not meant to be-,"

His eyes narrowed

"What's happened?"

Lupin started to cross the room but Oliver turned away, splashing his body with the frozen water from the faucet.

"Look at me," said Lupin "Oliver, please."

"No!" yelled Oliver "Leave me alone!"

He pulled his arm away from the teacher, returning to the icy river, wanting it to scald him, needing it to.

Oliver heard the squeak of the tap, felt the warm hand on his own as if scratched the dry flakes from his skin. He looked up into Professor Lupin's face.

"You're freezing," said Lupin "Come on."

Oliver walked beside him, without care for where he was lead. He could feel himself drowning again, the suffocating cloud rising above his head.

The red flash of the fire brought him back, its warmth and sound etching him in the room.

"Here," said Lupin handing Oliver a spare black, worn cloak "Put this on and sit down."

Oliver took it from him with a shivering hand. It was soft with years of wear, frayed, but warm. He slipped it around his shoulders and sat in front of the hearth.

He could smell Lupin in the fibres. It was deep and comforting in its way, something primal and raw.

"Drink this," said Lupin giving Oliver a cup of hot tea.

Oliver sipped it, looking at is caramel surface, anywhere but at his teacher.

The Gryffindor expected him to ask questions, demand to know why he wasn't in the Great Hall with the others. But he just sat in another chair in silence.

The minutes passed, Oliver listening to the dull murmur of the dark creatures sleeping around the room. He felt safe here, enclosed, sheltered. Was it the room, or who he was with?

"Thankyou," said Oliver.

He looked over at Lupin, his young face staring back, carved with the concern it had worn at the top of the tower.

"You don't need to thank me Oliver," said Lupin.

"Really," smiled the Gryffindor "Because you always seem to be rescuing me from myself. That deserves thanks."

Lupin shook his head.

"Everybody feels Oliver, its human."

Oliver thought he saw a slight shadow cross the man's face when he uttered the last word.

"You're not going to ask me what I was doing?"

The Professor sighed.

"You didn't hurt yourself," he said "But I won't force you to tell me who did. You're a man now Oliver, these decisions are yours to make."

Why was he so nice to him? Oliver still felt he didn't deserve it. He was dirty, he shouldn't be falling.

"I can handle it," said Oliver.

Lupin simply nodded.

I silver ghost floated through the wall. The Professor looked at it expectantly.

"Did they find him?"

"No," ghost replied darkly "the search turned up nothing. The headmaster requests that you take Mr Wood back to his dormitory. Good evening"

The ghost left.

"How did Dumbledore know I was with you?" asked Oliver.

"Strange man, Professor Dumbledore," said Lupin "Powerful, caring, but strange."

The halls were quiet; the other students already back in their beds. The washed stone passing under foot like a flickering movie of shadows.

"You'll be fine from here," said Lupin.

Oliver took off the cloak and handed it back to the Professor.

He turned to leave and felt the warm hand again on his shoulder.

"Remember you can always talk to me Oliver… About anything."

Oliver nodded, climbing through the portrait hole.

The common room was cold and quiet, flying through his vision and thought. The dorm room was bright though, alive with life and voice.

They all looked at him, but Oliver's eyes did not turn in their direction. They were now quiet, expectant.

"Are you okay?" said Marcus "I, we, were worried."

Oliver climbed into bed.

"Yeah I'm fine," he said before shutting the hangings.

Oliver sunk into the pillows, his eyes turning once more towards the light-lined window.

Its glass was once again a barrier, him thankful for it being shut. It was the pane that held it back, the flood of thought and feeling. The thin film that evened the sides, kept him whole, but also kept him hidden.


	18. Expected

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of PG due to Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN****:** A time between times and I do it to you again.

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

Oliver woke.

His chest fell rapidly. Dreams punctuated by dark shadow. He could still feel its cold, clawing skin against his own. The harsh, bitter cavern feeding in the quiet. He could escape it in life for so long, but his mind was aware. Not stoppered by glass or frame.

The room was silent around him, the soft air of sleeping bodies cradled in moonlight.

"Oliver?"

He heard the whisper and turned over.

A slim figure was before him. Lined with silver and shaking with cold.

"Can I sleep with you?"

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I'm afraid," said Angelina "Sirius Black, everything."

She stood there silently.

"Can you just hold me?"

Oliver drew back the bedding, making space within the downing.

Angelina moved beneath the covers, her satin nightdress falling beside his skin.

He could smell her perfume, the young flowers bound in hair and body.

"You don't mind," she asked him, the linen covering her to the winter air.

"No," said Oliver, the curtains falling back into place.

She lay there beside him, cradled in his arms, her dark skin burning with cold.

He felt every move she made. The rhythmic beat of her heart, the slow turn of her hands. Oliver was with her yet apart, alone but for every screaming thought in the tower.

"Do you think they'll find him?"

Her breath was so warm on his chest.

"Of course. Its only a matter of time."

Angelina sat up, looking at him through the darkness.

Her hand caressed his stomach, her delicate fingers carrying across the warm muscle.

"Promise me,"

She moved towards him but Oliver pulled away.

"What are you doing?"

Angelina froze.

"I… Nothing."

She lay down again beside him, Oliver feeling her drowning thought.

Why had he done it? Why had he backed away? He felt the wretched beast crawl within him. The sharp desire of veiled feeling. He had known it before now, sought it, yearned it, if not only to break the chains that held him to his mind.

No voice escaped her lips but he felt the bleeding tears. The clear, quiet rivers lost to night.

* * *

Soft clouds broke the sun that filtered into the Hogwarts grounds.

Oliver's hand rested on the white sheet, tracing the cutting memories that seeped him in guilt and loneliness.

He did not feel Angelina leave, the imprint of her body cold in the morning.

Oliver threw back the curtains of his bed, feet falling on cool stone.

"So, I saw you had a visitor last night."

Jake wore a satisfied smile, stretching and yawning.

"Was it good?"

Oliver shook his head, searching for his clothes.

"What," said Jake "I can't ask?"

Oliver stared at him, stared at the body and saw it for what it was.

"No," he said simply, leaving the room to the castle below.

The Great Hall was golden and quiet, the carved ceiling bathing all below in cool light.

He found the Gryffindor table.

Oliver sat alone, the smell of food stale and choking. He had made this choice, saw his path, grey and cracked, yet a steady line to some unknown end. Would it always be like this.

The bell sounded, dull feet treading the flagstone.

"Hey."

Oliver turned.

"Cedric."

The Hufflepuff stood before him, his clear eyes looking through Oliver.

"How have you been?" said Cedric "I haven't seen you for a while"

"Fine," said Oliver, wanting to go but failing to move.

They held silently, three stones apart, a thousand words unspoken.


	19. Renew

**Disclaimer**

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of MA due to Adult Themes and Strong Sex Scenes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN****:** Classic Oliver's Wood…

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

His mind strayed in the tapered light. The distant carving of wheel on floor a stone in the solemn mountain.

"Inferi… Inferi."

Oliver was brought back to the room, the soft hue of the library, the tapping of Percy Weasley's quill, sending all else to nothing.

"What?" said Oliver.

"Inferi," said Percy "This book has nothing. Hand me _Blackest Magicks_ will you."

Oliver pulled the ancient volume from beneath the growing pile.

"Honestly," said Percy, flicking through the back pages and squinting at the worn text "If I didn't need this NEWT to enter into the Ministry I think I may well have given up Defence Against the Dark Arts. This essay clearly-,"

"Yeah," said Oliver, scratching listlessly on the yellow parchment "Yeah I thought so."

Percy returned to his work, Oliver falling again into deep thought.

The moon grew in the sky outside, casting steel light across bound and aged shelves.

"I'm off to bed," said Percy "See you Oliver."

Oliver followed soon after, the fourth floor dark and cold. The grounds were lit by the moon's glow, each high window showing black crosses as a reel of movement.

Oliver stopped.

What had he heard. Some voice or cry through stone and shadow.

He heard it again, a frantic and low moan, pain, anguish.

The door was before him, its faded, oak grain stoppering the harsh calls.

"Professor?"

He knocked. The deep wooden rumble splitting the deserted hall.

"Professor Lupin?"

Oliver reached for the iron handle, frozen to the touch, jagged and bare.

"Sir?"

The room was in half light, low embers shivering red flame over the bare walls.

Oliver dropped his bag, his mind racing.

"Professor?"

Lupin lifted his head slowly, his eyes vacant. He made no noise, his bare chest heaving, beaded sweat raking his skin. He looked defeated, weak, in agony.

Oliver stepped forward, his worry etched face loosening, some unseen force calling him, drawing him onward.

The hearth burned, smoke mixed with a woody scent, a familiar intoxication of comfort and quiet hunger.

Oliver closed his eyes, the world slowing, taken, Lupin's ragged breathing sounding in time to the Gryffindor's steps. Oliver was lost, hollow, the blue of the Professor's eyes swallowing him.

It was feeling. Need. Raw knowing broke within him as he knelt down, level with the chained man.

Oliver took in the shackles, feeding on the quarried skin.

BANG

Lupin moved forward, the manacles catching him inches from Oliver's face.

He growled. Soft, animalistic, a small yearning grin creasing his lips, the salty musk deep in the Gryffindor's senses.

Oliver was bound.

He tasted him slowly, felt his warm tongue; the hot, wet flesh stealing him from himself.

They broke apart, eyes locked, tied, knowing, the deep beast clawing at them both.

The Gryffindor watched him, he would have him.

The two crashed together, steel links tearing at the dark stone.

Both were taken over, the professor's long, damp hair woven in Oliver's hands.

The Gryffindor tore open his shirt; the white fibres cast aside, his body aching against the slick torso of the other.

His hands swept the muscular form, gliding the soft hair and finding the metal clasp.

Oliver peeled the thick fabric away, deep yearning held in hand, soft movements opening both.

He quickened, flesh to flesh, cold fingers straining the helpless body.

Lupin shuddered, giving himself completely, the hearth roaring to sudden life, filling the room with blinding heat.

Oliver's nails marked the teacher's back, his muscles tearing, bearing down upon the crying man.

A chain broke from the wall, mortar and dust spraying them both, Lupin dragging back Oliver's head, the seventh year's throat exposed to his open mouth.

Lupin arched, his body burning as the river flowed from him. Crying out, broken, as he was emptied of his heat.

The moon broke the clouds, clear, radiant light filling the dorm.

Lupin screamed.

Oliver was thrown from him, a sense suddenly returned.

He staggered up, shaking, awake, staring at the tortured figure on the ground.

"Professor?"

The man was tearing, gutted, his eyes black, shapeless.

"No," said Oliver "No."

Lupin was changing before him. The wolf within eating its way out.

He howled. Claw and tooth, deep, unknowing. The beast again.

Oliver did not know what to do, the ground fallen from under him. He had to run, to get help, to hide. What had he done.

Breath escaped him, the door open.

Oliver saw a tall, dark shape and fell into darkness.


	20. Severed

**Disclaimer**

**********************************************************

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Adult Themes and Sex Scenes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

**********************************************************

**AN****:** What, you'd thought I'd gone…

§ - sonofgloin

******************************************************

He was empty and alone. Each dull thought like a word on the tip of his tongue.

There was a haze in him. An unspoken veil that wept before his eyes.

Oliver watched him, Professor Lupin, grey and bleak. What was it he had known. It was like falling through water, expecting to touch the bottom but finding only more black.

Lupin caught his eye from the teacher's table and hurriedly looked away.

"What are you looking at?"

Oliver's frown deepened.

Angelina's eyes were like shining glass. A deep moor of fettered truth.

"I don't know," he said, slowly turning to her "It's like I know I should remember something, but now there is just a hole."

"Ha," snorted Percy Weasley "Sounds like you've been confounded."

Oliver turned again, taking in the teacher, unaware of Angelina's growing pain.

The bell rang.

"Potions," said Percy "Coming Oliver?"

"Yeah," he agreed "In a minute."

Oliver left the table, slow and determined.

"Professor?"

Lupin stopped.

"Oliver… The bell, you should be going to class."

He seemed nervous, angry, bitter.

"Professor,"

Lupin met his eyes. Sadness etched in the blue.

"Did I come to see you last night?"

Professor Lupin looked to his left, along the staff table. Oliver turned too. Had Dumbledore been watching, intent on the two's conversation.

"No," said Lupin, turning back to look at him. "I was away from the school last night."

"But Professor I,"

"You best be going to class Oliver."

There was finality in his words.

Lupin left, Oliver standing on the aging step.

The darkness had become a wave, yearning to simple thought. Dark dreams broken in the day.

***

As quickly as it had gone it had come again. What was it that drew him here. Like spoken spell it had ripped from inside him. Resolve.

He stood in silence, shadow, deep and rapid breath leaving him in gathered mist.

The hot mouth moved over him, hands bound to his aching flesh.

Quidditch robes cushioned him against grained wall, the change rooms guttered by flickering light.

It took him over, death and beauty, dark hair gripped beneath his leather gloves.

He held his breath.

It all crashed back, cold and noise. His shuddering form cradled by night.

They got to their feet, Oliver tasting the soft musk of his fallen body.

She looked at him.

"What?" asked Oliver.

"Do you want this as much as me?"

Angelina's hands shook in his.

What did he say. These thoughts had returned more rapidly then they had left.

A gate had opened to an old path. The harsh dirt stung his eyes, yet it was the way to a place that everyone knew.

"Oliver?"

Oliver stared at her.

"You think it's that simple?"

"Isn't it?" she asked "Why can't it be?"

Why can't it be.

"I see you and I know you're real. You're not this dream or thought. I know I should just take that step. Take you."

Could he mask content as something else. Was it all just a lie.

He wiped the tear from her cheek.

"See you Oliver."

Angelina turned and left him, her dark shape falling into night.

***

Oliver walked back through the brittle grass. Each small blade falling beneath his weight.

The hazel moon spread the grounds in cool light. A stray dog, probably from Hogsmeade, moved through the undergrowth of the Forbidden Forest.

"You couldn't sleep either."

Oliver turned.

"Cedric."

The Hufflepuff fell into step beside him, hands deep in his pockets, cloak turned up against the cold.

For a time they walked silently, only the owls overhead and creaking of the forest punctuating the tread of foot and soft exhale of breath.

"I've been looking out for you," said Cedric "The other day, in the courtyard, we didn't really get to say much before McGonagall told us to get to class."

"She's pretty good at that," smiled Oliver. "I think it was her major in Teacher's College or something."

The light from North Tower grew before them; a clock in some far space of the castle rang eleven times.

Cedric stopped. Oliver turned to look at him.

"This weekend, I though maybe, we could fly up to the lookout."

Oliver frowned.

"Cedric, I-,"

"Just to train I mean," He went on "We play Slytherin next and I thought you could, I don't know-,"

"Cedric."

The Hufflepuff stopped, his cheeks flushed.

"Sure," said Oliver "I could use the extra training too."

Cedric smiled.

The warmth of the Entrance Hall covered them, most portraits sleeping in their frames.

Cedric stood at the entrance to Hufflepuff corridor.

"See you soon then."

"Yeah," said Oliver "See you."

Oliver headed for the stairs.

"So, that's your new play thing."

The words ran over him like a shiver, a dark, clawed hand scratching at his bare skin.

Oliver sighed, stepping back into the shadows, to face the voice.

"What do you want Flint?"

Marcus moved towards him, inches from his face. Oliver could feel the hardness of the Slytherin grow against his thigh.

"I'm just surprised that's what does it for you now."

Marcus put his hands on Oliver's chest, guiding him slowly into a bay of the silent hall.

"You don't know what you're talking about," said Oliver.

Marcus smiled.

"You know nothing about me Flint."

Oliver turned to move away but the Slytherin's hand struck out, baring the Gryffindor's way.

Oliver looked at him slowly.

"Move, your hand, Flint."

He did, but as Oliver turned again Marcus pulled him back, slamming him into the wall.

He took Oliver's hand and braced it around his flesh.

Marcus moved with him, slowly, his weight holding the Gryffindor.

The Slytherin sighed, drawing his hand away, yet the other remained.

Oliver's gaze locked on Flint's face, a dark light burning from within his eyes.

The torrent of shadow etched itself on his mind, every shape a tortured scream, black hate scarring him.

Marcus grinned

"There he is."

He leaned in and caught Oliver is a violent kiss, the Gryffindor returning it, shattered before the demon.

The night closed around them, broken by the dark inferno.


	21. Heaven

**Disclaimer**

**********************************************************

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Adult Themes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

**********************************************************

**AN****:** Yet another…

§ - sonofgloin

******************************************************

He sat on that shelf, the dry winter wind casting strands of hair off his forehead. The world silent about him, cheeks still flushed from the flight.

It was all before him, grey snow falling in muffled streams, a silent sheath that covered all knowing with its cold hands.

The sun was gone behind thick clouds, the gods' steeple, pale light lost between rock and tree.

"You're quiet."

Oliver turned his head.

Cedric sat beside him, knees to his chest, the soft blue of his eyes the clearest thing on that day.

Oliver didn't answer but turned back to the distant view, the wash of colour, within him the dull stretch before the end of it all.

"I think I know now."

Oliver could feel Cedric's frown, the question that would come.

"Know what?"

His sigh was everlasting, pain and fear exhaled, lost before the seasons call.

Oliver answered slowly.

"About the Dementors. About everything."

He turned to look at the Hufflepuff.

"We know, in some form we always do. What's right in its way."

What was left unspoken was breaking free.

"We're affected because of fear. Not fear of knowing, or living, or loneliness, or fear of pain."

Oliver looked back into the storm.

"We live our lives, every day, how we want. We do so much, so many things, influence and experience and choice making us who we are."

The snow broke before his eyes, light dark through the eddying storm.

"We could cure cancer, fly without wings or broom, solve every problem this small world has, and in the end it counts for nothing. We will always be known by one thing."

"We fear, of course we fear, but not for ourselves. Not to be introduced as 'this is Oliver, he likes to dance, and has brown shoes' but 'this is Oliver, he likes guys'."

"To have so small a thing, the thing that defines us, not what we've done, or how we've lived."

"To have the one thing that makes each of us different from every other person on this earth, as who we want to be with."

He looked back at Cedric, into him.

"Of course we fear."

Oliver shook his head, so unbelieving and vacant. This was what it came down to. Why would anyone want to live like that. Why should they have to.

The Gryffindor felt Cedric's hand on his shoulder.

"It's all just so unimportant."

The hazel breeze swum around the two of them, lost leaves under grizzled sky.

"C'mon," said Cedric "Stand up."

Oliver turned to him

"What?"

"Up," said Cedric again "Get up."

The smallest grin lined the Gryffindor's face.

He stood beside the Hufflepuff. Cedric drew his wand.

"_Sonorus._"

Oliver's eyes narrowed.

"Yell," said Cedric "Just yell."

Oliver drew his own wand but Cedric caught his hand.

"Don't remove it, just yell."

The two looked at each other, Oliver confused, how would this help.

Cedric put a hand to the Gryffindor's face, its warmth spreading through him.

The Hufflepuff stepped closer.

"For once, don't think, or feel or plan. Just once do something for you alone."

Oliver's eyes closed at the touch of his lips, that breaking shiver of heat running through him, every thought and being drowned in that single moment.

"Now yell."

And Oliver screamed, every word, everything, bleeding from him into the blizzard.

He freed what he held on to for so long, resentment, hatred, what he thought he knew. And beside him he heard Cedric, felt his warm breath.

"They can put aside all the things they ever knew about you, for that one, small, inconsequential part. They can talk and laugh and hold to that tiny revelation in their tiny little worlds, but I will always see you for who you are… Oliver Wood."


	22. Forever

**Disclaimer**

**********************************************************

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of MA due to Adult Themes and Strong**

**Sex Scenes.**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

**********************************************************

**AN****:** Well I know _I_ was waiting…

§ - sonofgloin

******************************************************

Time slowed, like a river of molten glass, earth etched souls breathing life and fire.

One shook, awake, his heart bleeding chocked breath into cavernous warmth. He could not hear or see. The clouded mist was him, spiralling and sure.

Oliver stepped backwards into the dorm room, light failing by sky and window, his skin cold and flushed in the shadowed room.

"_Incendio._"

Cedric's wand fell at his side, his quiet form casting light about the walls. There was something in him, of him, a stone apostle broken by crashing waves.

Cedric stepped forward, the Seeker's moves like a reel of fate, mirrored truth played so many times in both minds.

Oliver opened to him, the warm mouth playing over his, the other's heavy scent casting him to ruin.

Each grew against the other, anguished yearning breaking in life and muscle, the ancient stone cradling ribboned purity.

A leather chair fell under Oliver's weight, its stitched fibres warming from his skin.

Cedric sat atop him, sliding into an even slower kiss, his hard body caressing the Gryffindor below.

Oliver fed on that weight, that safety, his arms bound about the other's body, tasting the fevered skin.

Cedric moved over Oliver's chest as each white button was purposefully pulled away, his mouth gliding the charged skin of every muscle, the tanned figure bathed in flickering light.

The moon was rising above them, its silvered radiance gazing down upon the two, the Queen of Cups in evoking blessing.

Oliver gasped. Cedric's mouth taking him in, the tidal hands lost on the Keeper. The sweet lips burnt over him, bare and constant, a nocturne played within and below.

Oliver's breathing deepened, his bare stomach heaving in the night.

He took Cedric's left hand in his upon his chest, the other woven in the Seeker's hair.

Oliver's eyes were closed, his breath shortening, the heated waves crashing within him.

"Wait," he wispered.

Cedric stopped, his carved and burning face meeting the mouth of the Keeper once more.

The Hufflepuff stood, the shirt dragged from his torso, his strong arms and chest revealed to the night.

Oliver sat forward, drawing Cedric nearer, tasting the beaded sweat that raked his muscular stomach.

He drew apart the clasp of the Seeker's belt, the strained fabric pulled free.

Oliver felt him shudder, Cedric's body convulse as he moved over him.

The skin was tight beneath his fingers, the tissue willing at every movement of his hand. A salty tang ran over his tongue, the foreword of what lay beneath.

A groaning shiver escaped Cedric's lips, his body writhing from the depth of Oliver's mouth.

The Hufflepuff drew him up, the flesh of each as metal on stone, crying agony of unmet hunger.

The two moved across the downing, the scarlet bedding drawn away and covered with their yielding forms.

Oliver looked down into Cedric, his eyes shining out from unspoken thought.

The Gryffindor kissed him slowly, felt the hand drawing him in, closer and deeper.

Cedric's body arched as Oliver entered him, his body opening to the form above.

The two were met, slow and gentle, each broken in the other's hold.

The sky outside seemed to glow, shining brilliance sparked from heaven. Each thing gilded in a halo if silver gold.

"Oliver,"

The words bled from Cedric's lips.

Oliver could feel it form under him. Knew beyond all doubt.

They looked into each other and did not turn away. Though they were broken on untouched shores their eyes did not close. They were beyond that room, beyond the fire and heat; they were riven through time, cast into unbearable creation.

Oliver felt Cedric constrict and was nearly lost to it too. The Seeker gasped, deep, cutting breaths as the seed ran from him, across his stomach and chest.

The blues of their eyes cried. What was this.

Oliver leant down and kissed him, pressed himself again against the quaking body.

Cedric felt the breath and cries against his ear, the quickening gasps of the man above him, the heart raging in his chest.

In this they were but one.

Oliver could not stand it, could not hold back, the dark nothing was torn from him, his soul pierced and cast in light by the eyes that looked back into him.

"C-Cedric."

The river burst from him into the other man, the shocking waves charging through him as he was lost of his heat.

Their tired breaths sounded in time, the same smile playing about both their lips.

The two fell into each other. The darkness had not risen

***

The golden moon had fallen behind dark clouds where distant thunder rolled in the hills.

A dark shape stood over them, etched in shadow, looking down upon them in the other's gentle arms.

It did not stir or speak but to leave, the dust filled hangings closing on the two, asleep and, at last, in peace.


	23. Lasting

**Disclaimer**

* * *

**All names, places and concepts related to**

**Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling.**

**This applies to the entire work.**

**I have given a rating of M due to Some Adult Themes**

**This rating may be increased for later chapters.**

* * *

**AN****:** I'm trying to be productive…

§ - sonofgloin

* * *

There was sun in the distance, warmth like spring rain falling on tin. The deafening noise had faded, been drowned completely in the promising glare.

Oliver's eyes opened.

So long it had been that this place was bare, the linen broken and cast away with feelings black and sorrowful. There had been nothing left but corroded will, dull stone that could do nothing but stand and sleep.

"Goodmorning."

***

Hot steam fell over them, lost behind the scarlet walls. Skin and muscle sliding against the other, breath returned beneath the falling river.

***

Oliver just watched him, watched as he dried his hair, moved the towel about his body and reached for his fallen clothes.

"What?" asked Cedric as he pulled on his faded jeans, running a hand through his damp hair.

The smallest smile lined Oliver's lips.

"What?" asked Cedric again, smirking, looking down at himself, washed golden in the morning light.

Oliver's expression changed, contemplative, but still an emotion that spread to his eyes.

"I don't know but, I, I think I'm happy."

Cedric pulled on thin, white shirt and walked over to him, drawing the Gryffindor out of his chair and kissing him softly.

The air seemed to still, the world quieten, the sun fade and grow all at once.

They broke apart, Cedric's hands cradling Oliver's face.

His eyes were so blue.

Cedric smiled.

"I think I'm happy too."

Oliver kissed him again, just held in the Seeker's arms, breathing him in.

***

"Merlin's Beard! What do you keep looking at?"

Percy Weasley swung around in his seat, craning his head towards the Hufflepuff table. There was a piece of fried egg still dangling from his fork.

"Nothing," Oliver assured him, lifting up his pumpkin juice and taking a drink.

"I know Diggory is big," whispered Percy "But you can handle him."

Pumpkin juice sprayed the table, Oliver coughing and reaching for a napkin.

"What?!" choked Oliver.

"Quidditch," said Percy slowly "This weekend, against Hufflepuff."

Fred Weasley had sat down beside Oliver and began hitting him on the back.

"It's going to be a cracker Perce, Wood's been making us train like crazy."

The bell for first period rang. Oliver stood with the others and chanced one last look at the black and yellow house.

Cedric was throwing his bag over his shoulder and flashed the Keeper a short but cheeky wink.

***

The day had become cool and overcast. Greenhouse 7 coming to life in the humid air.

Thunder rolled into the Hogwarts grounds, sheets of rain falling across the deep green grass.

Herbology had ended twenty minutes before and Oliver stayed to trim the last of the adult Mandrakes.

It was peaceful here, the smell of fresh turned earth and dew covered leaves.

A fork of lightening rent the air, the following thunder rattling the greenhouse's windows.

Oliver took off his Dragon Hide gloves and looked up.

A dark figure stood in the doorway.

"Angelina?"

Her hair was wet and fell across dark, soaked robes. The Chaser's face expressionless.

"What's wrong?" asked Oliver.

She crossed the soil covered floor and stood inches from him.

Her face moved closer to his.

Oliver pulled away.

"What are you-,"

CRACK

Oliver stepped back, cradling his cheek with a dirt covered hand.

"You bastard."

Angelina's voice was cold.

"I saw, I saw you, and... and I said nothing, to anybody."

Oliver's stomach turned. She had seen him. Him and Cedric.

Tears began to fall down her face, her posture fail, defeated.

"There's nothing I can say to-,"

"NO!!!" she screamed "You don't get to apologise."

For the storm outside things seemed so still in here.

"All those times," she pleaded "All those times with me and you never..."

All Oliver could feel was the terrible weight in his chest.

"Angelina please-,"

"Do you love him?"

The falling rain peppered the ceiling, the strong breeze eddied against the walls.

...

"I don't know."

Angelina's mouth was trembling.

"Did you ever love me?"

Oliver couldn't answer. The tears were still so fresh on her face.

There was silence.

Angelina turned back into the rain.

"I don't know how to make this right," said Oliver.

The Gryffindor turned, droplets of cold water lining her form.

"You can't."

She turned and walked back towards the castle, the storm redoubling in her wake.

***

Firelight swam across Oliver's face, his cold eyes staring into nothing.

Cedric sat at his feet, staring up at the Gryffindor, wanting to comfort him.

"How was I so selfish."

"You felt something," said Cedric "It didn't have to be love."

A tear ran down Oliver's face.

"But I didn't stop, I didn't even think what it would do to her."

Cedric wiped the tear away and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"You didn't do this to hurt Angelina. The fact that you can feel this way proves it."

He lifted the Keeper's chin, staring into those crystalline eyes.

"I know you are a good person Oliver. I see it in everything that you do. We're all accountable for our actions, but we're human. We make mistakes. We hurt people but we make things right."

Oliver nodded not sure if he could make true the words.

A clock sounded below them.

Cedric checked his watch.

"I better get back to my dorm."

He stood up but Oliver caught his hand.

"Can you stay with me?"

Cedric stopped.

"Just tonight. I just need to feel you beside me."

He nodded.

The two walked to the bed, the hangings falling about them.

For a time Oliver lay awake listening to the beat of Cedric's heart, the soft and slow rising of his chest.

Here he felt safe. Here he was not alone.


End file.
